


It's Not Such a Bad Secret

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23730829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Crowley is hiding the fact that he has taken up baking as a stress reliever post-apocalypse. He's afraid it'll make him seem weak, when all he wants to be is strong. Will he continue to let his anxieties build up and force a divide between them, or will he be open and honest about it?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 4





	It's Not Such a Bad Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Literarion and SpaceChild! Thank yoouuu.

Crowley had another book today. He thumbed through the pages as Aziraphale drank tea by the window, people watching from afar. The lack of noise was uneasy, Aziraphale being used to Crowley’s rambling and such, but it wasn’t quite at the point where Aziraphale felt like he ought to say something about it. It was only when the vibrant colors began fading from the sunset sky that Aziraphale felt like his thoughts would no longer be enough to occupy his mind. Shadows began to pull taut across the ground and cut strange angles across the walls. He wrapped his fingers snugly around the teacup and turned as he quirked an eyebrow, deciding he’d had enough.

“Have I done something wrong?” he said, but Crowley only flipped to another page. Aziraphale sighed. “If there’s something the matter, we can work it out,” he said softly. “Ever since the Apocalypse, you haven’t been…” the same, he wanted to say. Crowley used to be responsive to Aziraphale’s voice. He would hear the subtle inflections, the gentle intonations in words and preen at the sound of them, as if they were music. “Am I boring you?” he pressed. “What, was this little rendezvous only so I could bring you books and I could sit here watching grass grow?”

Crowley turned another page.

“Should I leave, then?”

“What? No!” Crowley yelped, suddenly turning as white as ash. He stood, placing the book down, and sighed. “Angel, don’t- don’t say that. ‘M sorry, just... head’s in the clouds is all.” Slowly, he took off his glasses so that Aziraphale could see his eyes, guilty and embarrassed. “I promise I’m alright.” He snapped his fingers and the book disappeared. “Here, sit. We can talk- we can talk about anything you like! Look. Book’s gone.”

Aziraphale pulled his coat a little tighter around his sides though his expression simultaneously softened, looking into Crowley’s eyes with a silent plea. “Tell me what’s got you so enraptured with that book that you tuned me out completely.”

Crowley replaced his glasses, suddenly becoming sheepish. “You’ve read the book, haven’t you? It’s from your shop.” 

Aziraphale had read the book, yes. Still, he didn’t understand what was so fascinating about 18th century ovens. He said as much and Crowley only shrugged. 

“What do you say we grab some dinner and I’ll drop you off at the bookshop? Think we’ve been cooped up in here long enough.”

“Yes!” Aziraphale said, “Let me grab my coat.”

* * *

Aziraphale hesitated before opening the door. It was truly pouring now, threatening to drench him in seconds if he stepped outside without protection.

Wordlessly, Crowley miracled an umbrella in one hand and rounded the car. With the other, he helped Aziraphale out. After letting go, he leaned his weight on one leg, suddenly restless. “Sorry today was a bust. Tomorrow,” he nodded, as if that simple word held a promise. Aziraphale knew it did. 

For a moment, they listened to the rain, and it was like music. Each droplet descended and crashed to the ground and a new note sprang. It was peaceful. Crowley looked at Aziraphale, then, truly looked. Aziraphale’s heart pounded in his chest as the rain turned from drizzle to a downpour of icy, cold water. The wind nipped at his fingertips and slanted the rain, soaking his trousers where the umbrella’s protection could not reach. It’s cold grasp crawled slowly up his skin in a desperate bid not to be ignored and yet….

And yet, Crowley’s lips were so warm against his.


End file.
